Bad Luck Comes in Threes
by belle.noel
Summary: "It's never going to stop, is it?" I whisper. My abusive parents. Struggling to keep my siblings alive in the arena. The hunger. The thought chills me, but I know I've been given this life because I'm strong enough. I can make it through.
1. Saved

My breathing is heavy and uneven as I escape with Atticus to his room. My muscles ache but I continue tearing through the house with him draped in my arms. His blood showers down my faded blouse as I gently slide him onto the dusty floorboards behind his bed. Close behind, my parents bitterly shriek our names.

"Atticus! Atticus, come back to me!" I whisper frantically.

I can not bear to see protector, my eldest brother, but most of all my best friend, in this agonizing terror. His blood seeps through his ragged gray school shirt and colors his light brown hair with stains of harsh red. I'm pleading for him to wake up, to see the hazel eyes, for they calm me like a sedative would. Sharp alcohol bottle slivers plunge into his chest and face from my parent's rage. My mind rummages desperately for a way to regain his consciousness, but is interrupted by the terrifying rumble of my parent's drunken footsteps coming closer and closer.

"Ariana! Don't play games with us dear; there will be plenty of that after the reaping. Come on out."

I lay my head down on Atticus' chest in defeat, but my thoughts are cut off with the steady thump of his heart. He's there. He will come back to me. I swallow the lump in my throat and snatch an old rag, damp from the rain, and press it against Atticus' cuts. I begin to pick out fragments of beer bottles when my mother swings open the bedroom door.

"Why are you hiding, Ariana, from your dear sweet mother and father?" She snarls.

I've played this game my entire life. Sometimes I cringe at the person I could be if I had been born to a different family. I could have friends. I could be the one my schoolteachers cherished. I could have a future. But I can't have any of that. Sometimes I stare at the children in the village square in despise. The way their parents held them tight before the reaping, or bought them candy even though it was their last cent for a few weeks. Those moments of observing others teach me the harsh reality of what I live in… Atticus is the only person in this heartless, bitter world that can teach me what love is. I'm just a lonely girl filled with not a soul, but anger, violence, and troubled memories.

"_There _you are, my beautiful Ari. You know your mother and I don't appreciate your disrespectful behavior. Apologize to us, Ariana. Now." My father slurs his words, but somehow manages to look me directly in the eyes. I say nothing.

My mother advances forward, poised to hit me.

"Say it."

Her bony hand descents quickly through the air towards me. I know what to do; practically everyday for the past thirteen years I have been abused by my parents. I rarely let them hit me, but when I do it is only to save Atticus. I lunge under her smack and end behind her. She leaps at me in anger, her fingers desperately wanting to claw at me, but I'm too small and quick for her. I get a running start and hurdle myself up onto the wall planks that keeps our poor excuse for a house held up. I shut my eyes for only a moment and try to think about climbing trees with Atticus. That's all this is. I pounce from slat to slat, barely escaping the grasp of my parents. I swing higher through the wooden boards and flash my parents a smile from up the wall.

But that's when it happens.

Atticus gives a tortured groan from behind the bed. My stomach heats up and lurches painfully. My taunting smile washes away and the color leaves my face. I have to get to him before my parents. I scurry down the wall planks and find two alcohol bottles resting half-empty. I hurl them into the hallway, enough to distract mother and father. Adrenaline pumps mass amounts into my blood stream as I scramble across the floor to my brother.

"After EVERYTHING we do for you. We have given you a home, food-" Mother begins.

"You call THIS good parenting?" I whisper as I scoop up Atticus and hold out his blood tainted body.

My father strides across the room and grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks it up to his level. I refuse to meet his eyes.

"What did you just say, Ariana?"

I wince at the threatening low snarl coming from my father. Out of instinct, I pivot to the side and drive him into the wall with my shoulder. He's so drunk that he topples over without a fight. As I charge towards the door with Atticus, my mother flings her half empty bottle in my direction and hits my skull with an ear-splitting **_CRRRACK. _**I taste hot blood in my mouth, but nothing could will me to stop running. I leap through the frayed screen door and yank our reaping clothes off the clothespins with the little force left inside me. In panic, I dash a few yards towards District 5's power plant, which is a repulsive monstrosity that towers over our homes and lies next to the fence that separates us from the forest. I crinkle my nose at the sulfur smell of coal sent from District 12 that we convert into power, I've lived here 13 years and I still can't get used to the smell. My arms are throbbing under my brother's dead weight, but as gently as I can I lay him down in the dry, overgrown weeds that shake lightly in the breeze.

"Please come back to me Atticus, I need you." I murmur.


	2. Ariana's flashback

A sudden sound tears my eyes away from Atticus to District 5's power plant. Without a pause, I leap from my knees and stand in front of Atticus' body. The hefty steel door opens to show a little girl, seven years of age, her straw colored hair cascades in waves down her back, a few freckles dot under her eyes like stars on a cloudy night, and instantly I know it's my little sister, Abrielle.

"Sage! Sage, come quick!" Abrielle shouts.

Abrielle lets the door slam and walks cautiously toward me, staring at the blood that covers my blouse in a mist. I sink back down to my knees to appear less threatening.

"Atticus had… an accident." I lie. Abrielle doesn't need to know the whole story, but she does know her mother and father are not safe enough to take care of her, so most of her days she lives at Sage's house.

"He's going to be okay, Abrielle." I nod my head reassuringly and force a smile.

I outstretch my arms to hug her, but she backs away and points at my hands.

"These are my reaping clothes. Sage told me to be very careful."

"Well, your dress is quite pretty. You look like an angel." I say softly.

Her dress was Sage's little sister's before she got reaped and died in the Hunger Games about five years ago. It's white, and falls to her knees. The bottom is lined in delicate lace, as well as the short sleeves. The waistband tightens around her, displaying her tiny figure. The neckline scoops, and a bow lays weakly there.

"You do look pretty, Abrie." Atticus sighs.

Our eyes shoot over to him, resting in the weeds. His eyes are still closed, but his hand snakes through the grass and touches Abrielle's hand. Abrielle holds his hand, despite that it's caked in dry blood.

"Is everything okay out here?" Sage calls out.

The heavy steel door slams shut and Sage hustles over to Atticus. Sage has always been a protector of my siblings and I, ever since the first day of second grade.

He was a student teacher that day, quite tall, but muscular from previously working in the power plant. He had olive-brown skin, hair and eyes the striking the color of charcoal. They were the type of eyes that hypnotized you if you looked to long. I had seen him before, slumping off to work on those chilly autumn mornings before the sun had came fully over the horizon, but on that first day of school Sage looked much more intelligent and professional with his rolled up white dress shirt and black satin tie.

"Where are all your books, Miss Ariana?" Sage had questioned politely.

I was very bitter on the subject of mother and father not buying me the appropriate materials needed for school. I knew we were short on money, but I hated the nasty looks thrown my way by other girls and boys because I was the only one not prepared. I got beaten that morning by mother for riskily questioning one last time if I could go to the square before school and purchase at least one book I needed for the upcoming year. The question earned me a couple ruthless hits, so I was not ready to answer even if he was a respectable teacher.

"Did your mother and father buy you any supplies?" Sage softly questioned once more. He knelt down to meet my eyes. I shook my head.

"Well, that can be fixed. Why don't you come sit behind the teacher's desk with me and we can share my copy?" He suggested.

In front of the entire class, Sage laced my fingers between his and led me to the front where he sat me up on one of the tall stools and opened up the book for me. The second he began to read, my suspicions confirmed that he was someone I liked. His voice was so soothing as he read us tales from his book. His voice changed at different characters, and he would pause at very suspenseful parts. Sage really had a passion for what he was doing, and it showed.

Finally, Sage set his book down and told us all it was time to practice our penmanship for the remaining minutes until our real teacher returned.

"Are you very good at letters?" Sage asked.

"Mother and Father don't like to practice with me much." I mutter. I rub the bruise on my shoulder. "_They do like to hit me," _I consider saying.

"That's quite alright. Could you sharpen this pencil? Then I can practice with you." Sage comforted.

I took the pencil and strolled across the room, feeling very happy inside because Sage offered to help me while the other children had to practice on there own! I never get help like this at home! Half way to the pencil sharpener, I can feel my ankle totter a little to the side and before I can catch my balance the hard floorboards are slipping beneath me. I slam onto my hip, my breath coming in searing gasps, and I look up to see a girl with blond pigtails falling perfectly at her shoulders and a new pink floral dress staring down on me with a sneer.

"Felix," Sage stood up quickly from his desk. "That's enough."

A loathing so powerful rose inside of me at that moment. I was so exhausted of being beaten every hour of the day. My bruises seemed to nearly be radiating the outrage bubbling in my veins. I was not going to cower anymore, or let one single tear drip from my eyes. That was the moment I changed to who I still am today. I needed to regain power, all the power that my parents proved I never had as they viciously beat me more and more and more. I gripped my hands onto her shoulders and drove the girl over her school desk and she toppled onto the floor. She wailed and shrieked, called out for anyone to help her but everyone simply stared. Her mouth gaped open like a fish as she dramatically attempted to draw in breaths, but the wind was clearly knocked out of her. Sage snatched the neck of my shirt and dragged me away from Felix.

"Wait for me in the hall." Sage said flatly.

Everyone stared, but I didn't let any emotion come to my eyes until I entered the hallway. I slid down the grainy brick walls and buried my face in my hands. I lost Sage for good now. He will punish me, and scold me, and never look at me quite the same again. I knew I couldn't be happy for long. I stared down the hallway to Atticus' fifth grade classroom and begged silently for him to emerge and hug me and tell me everything was okay.

That didn't happen, of course.

Instead, Sage came out to the hallway and told me to follow him. I swallowed my guilt and sulked down the hallway after him, through the double doors that I entered my poorly built, ancient schoolhouse and onto a table outside. I slide to the seat across from him as he pulls out a piece of chocolate and an apple, rare delicacies in District 5 as well as my household, and sets them in front of me.

"It's okay, Ariana. Eat this, you look like you nearly about to whither away, and tell me about what's going on. I'm not completely upset with what you did, though it was wrong, I'm more surprised and confused. We'll work on controlling your anger later, but right now just talk to me, okay?" said Sage, sounding concerned.

I didn't want to. Really, I didn't. The bruises usually speak for themselves, but even if people asked I never told them the truth. Even at that young age, I knew what my parents did was an embarrassment. When I looked in Sage's eyes they looked so comforting, so I poured out my weak, little heart to him. Everything I could remember. The more I let him in on my life, the more I felt like a sponge being squeezed and all the water dripping out. I felt lighter, much lighter and happier after I told Sage about my home life. He sat there very patiently, holding my hand when the stinging of tears almost made me stop, and not even noticing my voice cracking when the lump in my throat got too big. From that day on, Sage was like a second big brother to Atticus and I, and eventually Abrielle. He walked us home, delivered us food, and gave us extra tutoring for school. Sage was my dry land in a raging hurricane, my life jacket in the ocean, and he wasn't going anywhere.

I snap back to reality as I see Atticus being lifted gingerly of the ground by Sage.

"Where are you taking him?" I ask alarmingly.

"I'm just taking him to the Medic Alcove. Just to clean him up a bit. Don't you pretty girls worry, we'll have him back before the reaping, okay?" Sage calmly answers.

I don't say anything, just nod. I wasn't very scared when I held Atticus in my arms, even when blood trickled out of him. However, seeing him carried away just chills me. Abrielle snatches Atticus' reaping clothes off the grass and hands them to Sage for Atticus to change into before the reaping.

"I love you, Ati." Abrielle whispers into Atticus' ear.

I swear I see him smile as he is carried away.


	3. Reaping

Abrielle and I venture out from behind the power plant, and begin to walk toward a small stream behind the Medic Alcove. Abrielle and I keep our heads down and stare at the tan, uneven cobblestone streets as we walk through the village square. The day of the Reaping, everyone walks from person to person to beg for money, something many wouldn't normally do, but most villagers feel more affectionate and softhearted today. Drunks tug on Abrielle's sleeve left and right, but back off when I send scorching glares in their direction. The Medic Alcove seems to be relatively empty, even the sick patients must be present at the Reaping. The grass nips and tickles our ankles as we reach the stream. I really like having a moment alone with Abrielle before the dreaded Reaping. Everything is soothing, like the way the rushing water trickles down rocks in a pleasing rhythm. Abrielle smoothes her dress and lays down by the water, the steady flow is like a lullaby and relaxes her.

"Are you scared for this afternoon, Ari?" Abrielle whispers.

"Not at all." I smile gently.

I peel my bloodstained clothes off of my skin and set them by the stream. I wade into the water and perch onto a mossy rock and begin to scrub off the dry blood. It comes off with difficulty, so I resort to using moss from the rock to wash off what I can of the bloodstains. The red blotches float atop the water and are carried quickly down the stream. I feel as if it symbolizes this morning, all the bad memories being carried away from me, floating away and out of sight.

"People are gathering at the square, I think we better hurry." Abrielle observes with one eye open.

Next thing I know, I am dressed in a pretty gray shirt with ruffles down the front, and a high waisted black skirt. I wince at the smell of my mother's perfume embedded in the clothes because it's absolutely dreadful. I feel ashamed to be wearing clothes of my mother's, it sort of seems that I am becoming more like her. We walk to the front of the Medic Alcove and Atticus is waiting for us.

"Good afternoon, my beautiful ladies. May I accompany you to the Reaping?" Atticus requests. He holds out an arm for each of us to hook onto and we giggle as Atticus begins to parade with us down the wobbly street toward the crowd. My heart soars as I observe his face; it looks as if the incident this morning never occurred. I'm not exactly sure what type of expensive Capitol medicine is in the Medic Alcove, but it does wonders. He still has a trace of a black eye on his left, but I expected bandages and gauze, and I certainly didn't expect him to be at the Reaping.

We grin and joke all the way there, and I'm certain I haven't been this happy in years. People turn and look at us, baffled how anyone people could be in this amount of bliss on a day like today. I don't even walk to the crowd, I float. We put everything behind us, all our emotional and physical pain, to be a family at last.

"Over here, Abrielle!" Father cries from the outskirts of the gathering crowd. So they were sober enough to come, what a surprise. The smiles melt off our faces as our parents push through the crowd and snatch Abrielle's hand.

"Abrielle will wait with us, now go get in line." Mother snaps.

Atticus and I bow our heads and give Abrielle one last hug before we enter each of our age group in roped off sections. My limbs feel like lead, it feels like I'm at my first Reaping. I grasp Atticus' hand and take slow steps, savoring every moment of his warmth. His face is brave, eyes set forward and shoulders back, but he doesn't try to let go until the peacekeepers literally have to pry us away from each other.

There are two projection screens on each side of the stage, and bright red flags waving in the breeze above the stage that read,

"_**HAPPY 40TH HUNGER GAMES!"**_

I find this amusing, they Capitol just had to pick red to decorate our streets since it's the color of our blood that will be spilled very shortly. A hush falls over the crowd as Mayor Priscus enters the stage along with our Capitol escort, Yasmin Pictor, and our only two living victors, Pax Pallas, and Virgil Rossi. Yasmin click-click-clicks across the stage on her wretched stilettos and smoothes her waist-length snow blond hair before starting.

"Ladies and gentlemen, President Snow has a special message for us all before we begin our Reaping. Please direct your attention to the screens."

The screen opens to the spine-chilling stare of President Snow. He is sitting in his office, decorated with white marble pillars and a historic scripture of the speech given each year about how Panem began.

"This year, we have some very exciting news," the president begins. I'm sure it's very exciting for him, but how exciting will it be to the actual tributes? The hair on my arms raises and I feel my heart accelerate as I think of the harsh rules for the Games will have in store this year.

"It has been 15 years since the most suspenseful, dramatic Hunger Games in history, the very first Quarter Quell. The reaction in the Capitol was fantastic! However, we all know the next Quell isn't for another grueling 10 years of waiting. That is entirely too long. Thankfully, I have took the initiative of creating a rule change to the 40th Hunger Games that will spice up the competition to add the excitement of a Quell. For the 40th Hunger Games, the lucky young lady or gentlemen chosen will be a selected tribute like usual, but his or her very own siblings will accompany the tribute and compete in the Hunger Games as well! Number of family members or age is not a limitation to compete this year! As always, there can only be one winner. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" President Snow signs off like he just announced a family fun event to the citizens of Panem.

The screen blacks out. The acid in my stomach churns achingly, Sage begged Atticus and I to not accept tesserae, but the truth is tesserae is essential to us not starving to death. Sage can't support us entirely on his low teacher salary, and my unemployed parents demand we bring food to fill their demanding stomachs every evening whether we steal it, use every last cent we have, or whatever else it might take. We split tesserae evenly; both Atticus and I have 35 names in the bowl.

Yasmin's skin tight pink dress looks like it might burst at the seam as she strides over to the bowl and foul images swirl in my head. The most haunting is Abrielle holding a knife, darting through the woods to catch her prey. Her innocence is gone. My worst nightmare has come true, she's not my little girl I tried so hard to protect, she's just an animal doing whatever it takes to come home.

Yasmin's ghastly claws dive into the bowl of girl's names. I hold my breath.


	4. The Games Begin

"Ariana Hesper."

The feeling when Yasmin calls my name sends the knot from my stomach up my throat, leaving me unable to speak, and fills me cold. The other 13 years olds shift away from me uncomfortably as Yasmin calls out,

"Ariana Hesper? Where are you dearie?"

In a daze, my eyes search for Atticus in the 15-year-old section, and there he is, staring back at me with cold eyes. We both know what to do, the Games have officially begun and it's time to start playing. I roll my shoulders back, take a deep breath, and lift my chin high as my legs slowly trudge to the aisle. My eyes are fixed in a malicious look as Atticus and I walk towards each other; our unforgiving stares burn deep into the camera. Everyone moves out of our way as we step through the crowd, balling our hands into fists like we might strike any given moment. He grabs my hand and we stride up to the stage as a pair, awarding poisonous stares to anyone and everyone whose eyes dare to flit our direction.

"I do believe there is one more Hesper, am I right? Yasmin says in her singsong voice as we firmly plant ourselves on the stage.

"No," I snap venomously. "She's only seven, too young to participate."

"Well don't try to steal all the glory from your dear sister! President Snow announced that this year age does not limit any tribute! If she is your sister, who I know she is, she will be participating. Weren't you listening, love?"

Peacekeepers carry a wide-eyed Abrielle up to the stage. I slip out of Atticus' hand and dart down the stage.

"Take her back." I demand.

"Miss Hesper- she is a trib-"

"Take her back this INSTANT, you mindless, loathsome fool!" I spit out.

Another peacekeeper comes from behind and grabs my hands behind my back and leads me back up the stage.

"She is seven bloody years old! Seven years!" I shriek.

I plow my elbow into the peacekeeper's stomach. He groans and lets go as I grab Abrielle. Tears fall from her eyes as she shouts,

"Sagey! Sagey! Take me to him, Ariana, I want to see him!"

She buries her head into my neck as I attempt to find Sage. I'm pushing past countless peacekeepers to get to him, and at last I spot him behind Atticus' section. He's running to me and I'm running to him and finally it's like no one else in the entire village square exists as we scream each other's names and I crash Abrielle into his soothing arms.

"Shhh, Abrielle it's okay! I'm here. Don't worry." He strokes her hair gently. My heart jumpstarts as I hear the peacekeeper's boots crunching on the gravel behind us, and he cruelly jerks Abrielle and I away. I feel my neck getting wet with tears as she buries her face to my neck. Everyone in the audience has their hand drawn to their mouth in utter shock. Everyone from District 5 weeps gently, silently rocking each other back and forth. They all feel so awful for me, yet not one of them volunteers. I catch myself on the screen that all of Panem will see. My glare is deep and hypnotizing, you could get lost in those stunning blue eyes. My mousy brown hair lies perfectly, but the tips are soaked from Abrielle's tears. I look unforgiving and powerful, traits that attract many sponsors. My chin is lifted high in confidence. My muscles flex as I carry Abrielle in my arms. I look like a winner.

"Now THAT'S the spirit of the Hunger Games. Absolutely spectacular," Yasmin giggles. "Now time for the gentlemen."

I see about every boy in District 5 shift uncomfortably.

"Yarrow Espinosa"

No. No no no. I know what is coming. He emerges from the 17 year olds. Strong build, but a gaunt face. He is older, but does not try to cover his panic. He slumps back to the adult crowd to find his mother; she's collapsed onto the sharp gravel huddled into a ball rocking back and forth. She clutches two little babies, one wrapped in a blue blanket and one wrapped in a pink. I don't think even the Capitol could make Yarrow's mother let go of her twins. He leans down and whispers something in her ear; she looks up at him in alarm but then nods her head and releases his brother and sister. Her hollow cries are still heard, but I can tell he is trying desperately to block them out.

"What an absolutely charming batch of tributes we have this year," announces Yasmin. "We can ensure all of us will be tuning in for the 40th Hunger Games to support you all! May the odds be ever in your favor!" Yasmin finishes.

Before the peacekeepers can lead us away I catch the rest of the crowd taking one, much needed sigh of relief before they head back to their homes, they escaped the grasp of the Capitol this time. Then peacekeepers nudge me off the stage and the images of their pitiful eyes still burn in my head.


	5. Goodbyes

The peacekeepers give me a particularly forceful shove as I stumble into a room in the Justice Building. I spin around on my heels, ready to hiss at him, but he abruptly slams the door with such force the wind sweeps my hair back.

"Ariana, I thought we were supposed to be going to the Capitol?" Abrielle asks, sounding anxious. She brushes back the velvet curtain with her little hand and narrows her eyes.

"We will be fairly soon," I say delicately. "We have to say goodbye to Sage and our parents and whoever else might come and visit us."

"I didn't know we had to leave so fast. I didn't even get to say goodbye to our house, or the stream we used to play at, or any of my dolls." Abrielle's voice quavers a little and I see her little eyes shining with tears. It feels like a thousand white-hot knives strike me at once. My hand flies to my face and cups around my mouth in sorrow. I shut my eyes for a minute to block this all out, but it ends when I feel Abrielle's tiny arms wrap around my waist. I sink to my knees and pull her close to me like a mother would the first time she sees her child. I want to get lost in this moment. Pause it forever, that way in the arena I can flashback to it and keep it for comfort, but the door swings open and my parents are stumbling in. I can smell the alcohol from across the room and I flinch. I can already feel one of them hitting me. Atticus, Abrielle and I take a seat on the very plush, velvet couch across the glass coffee table from Mother and Father.

"Which one of my children is going to come home a Victor?" Mother says coolly.

"Abrielle." Atticus and I say in unison.

Mother and Father snort and start giggling obnoxiously. Father runs a bony hand throw his graying hair and brings a hand up to help stop his chortling. He stares at the three of us and resumes his cackling, his drunken breath floating over to me.

"You think that's funny, do you?" I ask ferociously.

Both of them stop immediately and lean forward in their chairs at me.

"Well let's discuss all of your odds, shall we?" Father says bitterly.

"Atticus, my first born," Mother begins. "So handsome, so strong. Always the hardest working at the power plant to bring home money for your dear family."

Atticus sinks slightly as Mother makes her way over to him.

"You inherited my brains of course. Always the teacher's favorite. You could win, but as we saw today you're quite unable to put up a fight!" Mother shouts tempestuously. She strides to the door, her hands hovering over a variety of expensive items on a side table before picking up a vase and hurling it at Atticus.

I don't know what makes me do it; maybe it's just the years of protecting Atticus and Abrielle. To be honest, it's just cold, hard instinct by now. I jump to my feet, extending my arm and clutching my fingers around the vase, water and flowers slopping out of it, and propel it back to her. It stops just at her feet, shattering all over the floor in a beautiful array of purple glass glittering in the sunlight. My father lunges at me, but I grip the glass table, ready to tip it on him. He grits his teeth and whispers,

"If this room wasn't bugged with Capitol cameras, I would wring their precious tribute's neck."

"Try me." I whisper back.

I know he isn't a real threat, he's all talk but hasn't laid a hand on me for a while, so I now turn to my Mother. Her face looks completely collected, but then she flashes me her eyes and they are raging. She clicks her tongue and strides toward me.

"Maybe it's Ariana who will win." Mother says heavily as she tucks a white carnation from the vase behind my ear. Her soft touch is so foreign to me, I almost feel the longing to pull her hand back and touch my hair again. Almost.

"Oh what a shame, she would be the one to come home…" Father cackles, but avoids my glare.

"She's quick-witted, cunning, elusive. All traits that could get you through the games, yet those traits can come off as volatile and insolent!" Mother bellows, sending her fist into the glass coffee table. Shavings of glass shower over us, threatening to strike our flesh any given moment. Abrielle curves into me to avoid getting hit, but a couple slivers bury themselves in her back. Instantaneously, Atticus bolts across the room and pins Mother up against the door. She's screaming and pushing, but he stands hard as a stone with his hands on her shoulders.

"What's your angle, huh? Wanting Abrielle to win the Games, coming flat out and saying you want Ariana and I to die if it means Abrielle comes home! Don't you dare deny it, Mother, that's what you meant! Yet, you are so unstable and reckless that she could die, be in her grave before the Games even start, if that table had sent a few more snippets of glass into her!" Atticus screamed, inching closer to her face and forcing her look him in the eyes.

"You're so ungrateful," Mother sputters. "I never had a mother."

"Nor do I." Atticus shoots back.

I'm frantically pulling glass out of Abrielle, she whimpers but doesn't shed a single tear. Only a couple pieces have blood streaked on them, meaning they couldn't have gone very deep.

"Is there blood on my dress?" Abrielle asks, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

"Of course not." I comfort, pulling her close to me once more.

Father sweeps across the room, grabbing Atticus with one swift motion and flings him into a mirror only five or six feet away from my weeping mother. He lunges into Atticus, seizing his shirt collar, poised to strike…

The door sways open, and a peacekeeper springs in, holding his gun to Mother and Father.

"Get out, and no charges will be pressed."

"I NEED A MOMENT WITH ABRI-"

"OUT!"

Abrielle shifts slightly in my arms to look at Mother and Father leaving, probably forever. They cling to each other, looking like a disgraced mess with their puffy, red eyes and fake sobs. I must admit, if I was a peacekeeper and I didn't see any of this on camera, I would really think they were the typical grieving parents of a tribute. Their backs are hunched all the way out, until they reach the doorway and look back in. Abrielle is curled in my arms, with her captivating eyes staring back at them. I glare back unreadable, but inside I just feel shock that this is how it ends. The last time I will ever see my mother and father, since Abrielle will be the only one returning to District 5. Every flinch of pain, every flit of fear, is walking out the door and melting, erasing from my mind. Glass blooms around us, sunlight catching it every now and then, and makes it a little hard to meet their eyes for the final time. Atticus stands closest to them, hands balled up in fists, veins distinguishable from his clutch.

"Good luck, my loves." Mother sings, before turning to my father and bursting into a fit of laughter.


	6. On Board

Everyone freezes for a moment; truly unable to believe that is the way our parents chose to walk out of our lives. I am so happy for Abrielle; she only had to be in their venomous presence for seven short years.

I don't have time to think much longer, because the door flutters open and a surge of relief spreads through my body at the warming sight of Sage. The peacekeepers slam the door once more, but my senses don't even pick up on anything but a distressed looking Sage. He stands in the doorway looking like a fresh spring rose that wilted under the afternoon heat of the dazzling summer sun. His inky hair looks frazzled, and somehow his shadowy eyes look more full of soot then I remember. His pale lips are slightly parted, panting like he had to maneuver through a crowd of waiting fans to get to us. Without speaking, he waves his hand suggesting we come closer to him. Abrielle is the first one to him, running faster than the day Atticus and I found a few dollars on the street and told her to come with us and buy a new dress. She wraps her tiny arms around him as he bends down to pick her up and swings her around while she giggles uncontrollably.

"Oh, I'm going to crave that laugh so much while your gone, little miss." Sage sighs, stroking her hair and swaying back and forth towards Atticus and I with her wrapped up in his muscular arms.

"What else are you going to miss about us?" Abrielle says happily.

"I'm going to miss the way you get your M's and N's mixed up when I tutor you. I'm going to miss the way you hum me songs after a long day of work. I'm going to miss the sound of you racing your brother and sister through the gravel to my front door." Sage says sadly. He reaches the couch, where he settles at the edge with Abrielle still curled up in his arms. I'm in the middle, and Atticus rests on my other side.

"What are you going to miss about Ariana?" Abrielle asks sweetly.

"I'm going to miss lots of things about Ariana too," Sage answers, patting my folded hands.

"I'm going to miss the shape of your smile that I feel like I never see enough. I'm going to miss you sneaking over to my house at night to sing Abrielle to sleep. I'm going to miss the sound of the door opening when you visit me on my lunch break." Sage says grimly.

I mash my lips together and nod gently. I can't even bear to meet Sage's eyes. A pang of grief hits me only momentarily. He has to watch the three of us, basically his children, kill other people, turn into savages, starve, freeze, but worst of all- die. And there isn't a single thing he can do about it.

"Now what about Atticus?" Abrielle presses on.

My head stops spinning as I breath in the sweet smell of new books and teacher pens radiating from Sage. In this moment, I feel almost at ease. We're not discussing strategy, or staying alive, or our skills or any of that nonsense and in a way in has a calming effect on me. Sage knows Atticus and I are strong and quick and witty, and he already knows from the look in our eyes we will bring Abrielle home to him where she will stay for the rest of his life. Sage believes in us.

"Atticus was like a son to me, Abrie. I'm going to miss him very much." Sage bows his head slightly.

"But you're going to see him again? After the Games you will?" Abrielle insists, twisting herself in his arms so she faces him.

"Possibly, if the odds are ever in my favor…" Sage trails off.

My heart plummets and shatters somewhere near my belly button when the peacekeepers yank the door open and charge into the room, ordering Sage out. Sage pulls us all very close and whispers a very strange string of words that clash together and ring in my ears.

"I love you all."

The peacekeepers tug on Sage shirt collar, but he resists, pulling us all close one last time. My body goes cold as Sage pulls away from us, Abrielle calling his name in distress. Her little arms scratch and pull in the air, the peacekeepers driving her away from Sage and back to Atticus and I. Sage is nearly out the door, and my eyes soak in every detail of his face, even though it is very drained and not how I'd like to remember him.

"We're going to win for you Sage! I'll kill every bloody kid in the arena if it means one of us comes back to you!" I scream defiantly, not bothering to look at Atticus or Abrielle's faces.

The door is inches away from being slammed for the final time; I can already hear the familiar sound ringing in my ears. The last thing I see before Sage vanishes behind the door in a single tear flowing down from his somber eyes.

...

The cameras flash and flicker on my every step to board the train. It feels as if I'm walking in slow motion, my eyes pick up on every burst of light in the crowd, but I'm blocking out all noise. It's like being underwater in the small river behind the Medic Alcove; you can hold you're breath and lay at the bottom of the stream to look up, viewing every harsh glint of sun and bursts of water rushes over you, but you can't hear a single chirp of noise coming from above the water. Yasmin's heels click across the platform, she's waving and grinning beside us like she's in a pageant. Her close-fitting dress looks like it might rip any minute, but I wouldn't think it too tragic because it's absolutely ghastly against her figure with small ruffles every inch and a keyhole in the back that shows more than necessary.

Atticus exchanges a glance with me and I remember what game we're playing. Everything snaps back to real time as Atticus leans over to me a whispers a secret behind his cupped hand.

"Watch this, flip your hair."

I'm suspicious at first, but understand the Capitol craves a little cockiness, brash, even arrogance because it makes them want you more. It's pathetic, really. I toss a careless hand through my hair and steal a glance into the crowd with my typical fierce glare. The photographers go mad as a hatter as Atticus wraps an arm around Abrielle and my waist, striding through the train station like a team. As we step onto it, I smirk to the camera as Yasmin shuts the door behind me. Her back against the entryway, she swipes off her black glasses that resemble cat eyes with diamonds dusted on the tips as she bites the ends between her crimson lips and stares at us. She's really a towering woman, her stilettos unnecessary, and her eyes are blue like mine.

"That was absolutely fabulous!" Yasmin sneers, wrapping a finger around her snow blond hair. "Have we already started acting for the camera?"

"It's not an act." I say shortly, turning on my heels and making my way to the dining room where Yarrow's family and the Victors are seated.

"She's always like that? I can show you what a REAL lady is supposed to be like." Yasmin gossips coolly.

I clench my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms. Yarrow is seated at the table, rocking the baby boy gently while the girl is wrapped up in the chair next to him. Virgil and Pax sit at the end of the table, not speaking. The full realization of their divine, unearthly beauty hits as their eyes trickle over at the sound of the glass sliding open. I don't see them much in District 5; they keep to themselves in Victor's Village. Virgil is fascinatingly beautiful, but I can tell from the wandering of her eyes she's disconnected from the rest of us. She's petite like me, with wavy black hair as dark as a starless evening sky and she has green eyes. Her skin so pale, almost bloodless, and I can see veins twisted inside her hands. She's angular and thin, her bones sticking out sharply. It seems strange to me that she is the same Victor with post-traumatic stress after the Quell five years ago. Her hands are in fists, and she is grinding it in a continuous pattern on the table almost as if she's carving something in wood. Her hand is bright red, raw from rubbing the surface of the table over and over again. She murmurs to herself angrily, lips fluttering softly.

Pax sits next to her, playing absentmindedly with a strand of her hair. I saw Pax snap one year at the Victory Tour, only six months after his Games, but he tries so hard to be strong for Virgil. He's much healthier than her, not quite as jagged. Pax is also very beautiful, with curly blond hair but eyes the color of dark chocolate. A smile plays at his red lips as the door slams. The two of them look like illustrations in an old fairy-tale book Atticus read to me. Wordlessly, Pax stands and pulls out a chair for me to sit next to him. Atticus and Abrielle file in, Yasmin sucked onto Atticus' arm like a leech.

"Well, let's start talking about your skills, strategy, technique, all that fun stuff." Yasmin says after tearing herself away from Atticus.

"That's really up to the Victor's. I don't think we need to discuss that right now-" Pax requests lightly.

"Ariana," Yasmin interrupts. "You first."

I slam my fist down on the table, Yarrow glaring at me for almost waking the baby, but before I let my atrocities slip out Pax stands abruptly. He looks at me horrified for a moment, tears swimming in his eyes. He swipes a hand through his hair in distress before he turns to Yasmin.

"You promised…"

Yasmin smirks and crosses her arms at the other end.

"Oops." She says in an uninterested voice.

Pax sits down hurriedly and wraps his arms around Virgil, her hand still and no longer beating the table, and whispers something in her ear. She looks limp in his arms, but suddenly balls his shirt up in her fist and slams them into his chest. She now looks directly to me, brushing her dark curtain of hair from her eyes, and releases a blood-curling scream that rings in my ears. Abrielle clutches the table as the scream shutters down my spine. Virgil snatches a plate, swinging it against the table until it shatters in two, and launches to my throat. I leap gracefully out of the way, but it clips my hip and I feel a sensation so intense and hot that it spreads through my whole body until I feel hot blood oozing out.

"She's dead Virgil! Your Ariana died a long, long time ago. She's not coming back, Virgil, she's dead in her grave!" Pax yells out above the cry of the babies and sound of glass shattering.

Virgil throws her self against the nearest wall, forearms flat above her head steadying her and looks down in defeat. She breathes deeply, in and out. Finally, she looks at me and covers her mouth with her hands in shock.

"I'm so sorry." She whispers faintly before trudging out of the dining room. Pax tries to follow.

"Please stay with them. I don't want them alone with that obnoxious Capitolite." I can't help but thinking I might actually like Virgil.


	7. Slipping away

**A/N: **

**A thank you goes out to MissDizzyD, EricaHellyeah, and sweet-and-sassy928 for reviewing. Keep it up, reviews keep me on schedule. Hope you enjoy! **

We retreat to the dining table once Virgil leaves the room, sulking. Yasmin seems unconcerned and oblivious to Virgil's muttered comment, she's chatting with Atticus animatedly and drawing her lips back so far she looks more like a snarling dog than a person smiling. Atticus looks over and mouths "Help me." before turning back around to face Yasmin and he sits politely while she gushes about how pleased she is to escort such a handsome tribute.

"What was the scene with Virgil all about?" I ask Pax, still breathless.

"I'll explain later." Pax growls, staring Yasmin down from across the table, and I don't press the subject any further.

Dinner is served and as I let my eyes settle on the feast brought before us and I am nearly unable to stop myself from diving into it. This stuff isn't garbage scraps or tesserae, my usual meals; this is rich, healthy food that makes my stomach churn. Steam rises from the thick red soup and tickles my senses as I pick up the spoon and shovel it into my mouth. An explosion of flavor hits me, a sensation I never experienced. I think of how Sage would like to see us now, our hunger pains healing. I wish I could send him this meal; maybe the warmth would comfort him like it does to me.

One of the babies cry out again, their gravely weeping makes Yarrow rub a hand over the dark circles under his eyes. He balances the twins, one on each arm, and feeds them a bottle before he eats his food. He rocks them back and forth in his arms, but the baby boy continues wailing and Yarrow looks in distress as his eyes search down the table for someone to help.

"Miss Pictor, would you happen to know anything about children? You seem very… motherly."

"Oh it's not that hard! Just shut them up before I throw them out of the train windows!" Yasmin screeches, rubbing her temples.

I grit my teeth as images of those helpless babies being brutally murdered in the arena fogs my mind. I watch the way Yarrow hugs them tighter at her comment, keeping his eyes down and rocking them again. He shuts his eyes in defeat, and I now turn to Yasmin. She's sighing in disgust, which forces my blood to boil.

_I'll kill every bloody kid in the arena if it means one of us comes back to you!_

My last words to Sage ring in my ears. I meant it, I really did. However, as I look across the table I can't bear to visualize taking a knife to one of those defenseless children. It makes me furious, absolutely livid, that those two little children make me feel this way. They can't even speak, but the way Yarrow reacts to them drives me insane to think I might be the one to kill them. I've always been unreachable, tough-skinned, and fierce; I shouldn't be feeling things like this. In the heat of the moment, I pick up the remainder of my piping hot bowl of soup and sling it across the table to Yasmin and stain her expensive Capitol dress red. At first, the sound coming from Yasmin is a low hum, it builds up in the back of her throat and releases into my eardrums and pierces them. She launches the chair into the back wall and stands up, her veins bulging from her neck. Unexpectedly, she snatches Atticus' arm and drags him close to her, planting a kiss on his lips before either one of us can stop her. She lingers, enjoying the heat from my rage radiating across the room to her. A scream escaped my lips as the realization strikes me. Outrage courses through my body, heating me to my very core and feeding a flame so hot within my heart that I almost scream once more in pain. Atticus' hands flew to Yasmin's collarbone and he presses his palms flat against her, shoving Yasmin away from him. She stumbles back a few steps, speechless, and sneers at me.

I feel hands gripping my waist, and dragging me away from the dining room. Yarrow makes an exit to his room as well, both babies sopping wet from their salty tears. He storms out of the room, most likely ashamed that his mere cry for started the fight, but truth be told I would be surprised if I hadn't thrown something at that woman before leaving for the arena. Abrielle won't even look at Atticus, but trails behind Yarrow to retire to her room. Pax half-carries, half-drags me away, hushing me as I continue bellowing at Yasmin even though she's three rooms away. His hand slips over the brass doorknob and throws me over his shoulder with one arm, Pax really is quite young and strong but his dark circles make his seem older. He throws me down on the bed and observes me carefully.

"You're a fighter." Pax states admirably, it's not a question.

"You would know a lot about that…" I trail off icily. My temper is still ignited; I just need to hiss at him. The way he wronged me all those years ago.

"What are you talking about?" Pax narrows his eyes, clearly defensive that I snapped on him so quick.

"Don't pretend you don't know. We lived next to each other before you moved into Victor's Village five years ago, Pax! I know you could hear our screams. Everyone did, as if this didn't speak up enough." I rip my shirt collar down to reveal nasty bruises, blooming in color and reminding me of my past.

"What did you want me to do, Ariana?" Pax retorts, grabbing my wrists and pulling me close to him. "What could I possibly have done?"

"Sage didn't see his little sister die on television that night so many years ago because he was saving me from nearly being killed! He didn't hear the last words she exhaled before she died because he cared about us! You know what Pax? He didn't even have the money you had, but he was brave." I cry out, ripping my wrists away from his grasp and slamming them against his chest. His eyes are accusing, livid and I know he is ready to attack but my words just slice across the air without effort.

"I'm glad I never came. I'm glad I let your parents hit you because THAT pain is not even half of what Virgil and I have been through. You know why Virgil broke down at dinner? The girl that bludgeoned her district partner to death was named Ariana. She was from District 1, and you remind me so much of her. You're both cruel and heartless and bitter. Imagine having to see that, and live with it. The pain to us is so deep, so agonizing, so intense, and it never stops. I don't think it will heal. I don't think I'll ever live. We're awake, our hearts are beating but slowly, mentally, I think we're dying." A stinging sensation hits me, his words slashing in my ears. I finally thought I had found someone in this place, but just as quickly as I thought I had him he slipped away. Slowly, I release my palms from his chest. I peer at him through my lashes and he looks deadly, unforgiving, but for a moment it was almost as if eyes softened as I held his stare.

"You can leave." I demand.

"Gladly."

Pax bangs the door on the way out, and everything is eerily silent.


	8. Televised Reapings

My fingers stretch longingly for something to hurl at the door, but I stop myself after I cock my arm back- it's the TV remote. The Reapings are on tonight, and every channel is swarming with previews and commercials. I wring my wrists uncomfortably as I realize this is the first viewing of my opponents. I don't retrieve Abrielle or Atticus; I need to assess this on my own.

The cameras start in District One, as always. The girl tribute, Calixte, is so wretchedly typical of the district. She has elbow length, wavy blond hair. Her lashes are long and showcase her piercing blue eyes; they look so much like my own. Her lips are dark and contrast against her snow-white skin. She smiles vivaciously, as if she is truly delighted to fight to the death. She struts up the aisle cockily, and collects her identical sisters… she's a freaking quadruplet. Great. They all giggle and wave to the crowd, typical Capitol bait. The boy is Ioana, and I automatically hate him because he has no siblings. No one to protect, no one to fight for, no one to miss. Ioana has curly dark hair that tickles his ebony eyes. He is superbly muscular, exactly what I expected, but his eyes are glazed over and he looks distant.

The cameras flash to District Two, and I lean in to the TV because I'm always fascinated to see what they bring to the table. I notice the stage is crowded with past victors, they're flaunting off to the rest of us for intimidation purposes. I roll my eyes, I'm not scared of any of them whatsoever, but a pang of fear hits me as I think about Abrielle going against one of those beasts. The girl is Eve, and she smiles wickedly at her name announced. She's the tallest girl in her section, probably 17 or 18, but is very skeletal and pointy. Her hair is fiery red and cascades down her back like a waterfall. Her eyes are constantly set in a condescending look- I hate looking into them. Two brutes emerge from the adult crowd, they must be her brothers, and meet her in the aisle. I'm fuming as I connect the dots to the advantage District Two has here. I am appalled the Capitol is allowing these sadistic, overage monsters to compete against Yarrow's baby brother and sister. They whisper casually, as if we have all the time in the world for them to get to the stage, and the oldest son points to a little girl no more than four years old. They all wave for her to join them, but she doesn't budge from her parent's arms. Eve leaps through the crowd and snatches the child and drags her to the platform. A little more than necessary, but probably already earned some sponsors. The boy is Samson, a severe looking kid with short, dark hair and the same color eyes. He's almost animal-like, the way his muscles bulge from his arms without flexing. His jaw line is intensely defined, and it clenches displeasingly as he marches to his death alongside his twin sister.

District Three is repulsive; I almost can't concentrate on their Reaping. Their district holds all the factories, which causes the air to be invariably grey from the smoke that is pumped into the air. Thick, charcoal clouds hang glumly in the air, reminding them constantly of work. I really just want to see the Career districts, but I know I should be observing all the tributes because even the feeblest and weakest looking could already be acting. The boy has a harsh nagging cough, and his clothes hang from his bony body and sway in the breeze as he retrieves his older sister. I almost dismiss him, but then I see the way he firmly grips the arm of his sister, digging his fingers into her flesh and shoving her unwilling body up to the stage, I keep him in mind.

District Four is my favorite Career district. Their tributes are fierce, untamed, but not cocky. They don't play along quite like One and Two, the Games aren't a fashion show to them, they just do what needs to be done and come back to their family. Lucia is the girl, and I figure it a disappointment for her to be so young and representing District Four because she's only thirteen, like me, but everyone avoids her eyes. She's the height of most boys in the crowd, and she's quite twig-like. Her skin is bronze and seems to be glowing as she takes every step. Her cheeks are hollow and shadowed, further displaying her underfed figure. Strands of auroral, golden hair flow lightly behind her as she scans the crowd, breathless, for her partner. Finally, a little girl trips up the cobblestone steps, appearing about two, Lucia scoops her up and whispers into her ear, ignoring the handshakes and congratulations from the officials on the stage. The boy chosen is Sochii, and the first thing that catches my eyes isn't his muscular build, or the striking green eyes, or sun-kissed skin, not even his mousy brown hair that reminds me of Abrielle's… it was the pained look on his face as everyone shifted away from him. He looks physically like a Career, but his expression gives him away. His bites his lips so had, a trickle of blood actually spills out of his full lips. Sochii stands now in the middle of the aisle, standing in the silence of the district, only the whistling wind whipping his hair makes a noise. Lucia sets down her sister and springs into the aisle, crashing into Sochii's arms. I watch, intrigued, as she wraps her legs around him and he spins her in slow circles, barely brushing his bloody lips to hers. He sets Lucia down like a piece of fine china and they walk up to the stage together, fingers laced together as if even the Capitol wouldn't disrupt their burning passion for one another. Sochii's four brothers and a sister amble up to the stage casually, and I can see why. Their full-grown adults, indicating Sochii as the youngest, and have a shot at winning this being the most intimidating group in the district. The image of Abrielle crossing their path invades my mind.

Our turn. The screen is now a familiar setting; the village square. When Yasmin calls my name, the camera dashes to me, capturing every emotion in my eyes. It's a little off-putting, seeing such a petite girl looking absolutely malicious. I kind of like it.

I look down at my intertwined fingers nervously, trying to block out the television after I stole a glace at myself. I'm dreading Abrielle's cry, I know it's coming, but as much as I try to distract myself I can't help but shudder at her piercing cry. I wearily look up to the scene, and I'm carrying her to the stage now. Only for a moment, I feel as if every muscle in my body has betrayed me, gone numb. I sit on the couch in udder shock, my fingers still tangled tensely. I keep my gaze glued to the television as I surge my fingers across the bed for the remote, at last I find it and send my shaking finger into the pause button. I zone in to my arm that supports most of Abrielle's weight, and notice my arm is stained in blood, twisting in red vines up my forearm. I examine my trembling arms and even in the pale moonlight casting in from the windows I can see only sprinkles of Atticus' blood remaining on me. Could that be only this morning? It feels like lifetimes ago. I remember not scrubbing off all the blood entirely, but I never imagined the Capitol cameras would pick up on something so detailed. But there it is, radiating off my arms like sunburn. It's terrifying, and I really look like a bloodthirsty killer before I'm even in the arena. I wonder what the Careers are thinking…

I should have paid more attention to Districts 6 and 7, but I still drowning in crashing waves of disbelief. I don't think I can resurface until I hear a cry, similar to Abrielle's, but now we're in District 9. The girl is crying and has to be "escorted" up by the peacekeepers. She puts up a small fight, but after ten feet she goes limp in their iron grasp. For some cruel reason, I hope it's not an act. It'll be one less person that will put up a fight with Atticus and I in order to bring Abrielle home. I tune out again, but spring back shortly after District 12 pulls forth a tribute with two twin six year olds, a year younger than my Abrielle. My breath catches in my throat as the camera zooms close to the little girls. They hold hands, tears slopping out of their dark eyes. Not out of fear, but out of confusion they were taken away from their parents. Their hair is parted down the middle and is pin straight, falling past their chest. The color is a haunting shade of black, the same color as their eyes. I'm hypnotized by their young beauty; but the seal of the Capitol shines bright on the screen and then the television goes black


	9. Ariana's story

Sage once told me when you're around someone so much, for so long, they become apart of you, and when they go away, you don't know who you are without them. I never really understood this, because for a while there was nobody I cared so much if I lost them. I wasn't afraid. Sage was young, healthy, and liked by most of District 5. Atticus and Abrielle were under my protection, unreachable. Safe. My parents I care less about. It's now that I understand the inescapable danger we're all in that Sage's words make sense.

I can feel her tugging on the itchy black fabric of my skirt. The seams stretch in her tiny hands, nearly bursting under the pressure. It's urgent, I can tell from her strength, but I can't help her. I just sit. I'm stone. Distant. Staring unblinkingly in the vacant television, still seeing every emotion in my rival's eyes.

"Ariana, please!" The tiny voice pleads, it snaps me away from the sound of cannon fire, but the voice is seemingly far away.

"ARI!" Abrielle flares sharply.

I swivel to her, my body still clenched and rigid, and instinctively snatch her in my arms. I take in the sweet smell of her hair; it's like fresh peppermint. She melts into me, but I can tell she is taken aback by my sudden awakening from the television screen.

"So you were watching too?" I whisper into her hair.

"Yes."

I pull her closer to me, trying to ignore the stares of several avox as they pass our doorway. It hits me that it's almost all over, everything Atticus and I do for her. Only one can win, and Atticus and I have an unspoken rule that we have to save our Abrielle, neither of us could bear to return to District 5 without her clenching our hands. When Abrielle returns, she will no longer be a little girl, but a young lady. She will go on the Victory tour alone. She will sign autographs alone. She will sleep in her bed in Victors Village alone.

_ She's just my little girl. _I think.

Delicately, Abrielle raises her head, the smell of peppermint still lingering, and pulls me to my feet and over to her room. Atticus is there, turning down her sheets with a dazzling white smile. She slithers into the bed while Atticus and I smooth her blankets and sit at the end, alert for whatever request she might make.

"Everything I'm running away from… is in my head," Abrielle pauses, blinking back the tears. "I can still see the look in some of their eyes. Like Eve and Ioana and I…" She grasps handfuls of hair, balling it in fists as if her hair is the only thing keeping her held down to the Earth. She rocks herself gently, thumping the backboard in rhythm. I reach for her longingly, wanting ever so badly to hold her and whisper into her ear how everything is going to be okay, but she pushes me back. My ghostly white hand is frozen in the air for a moment as I let the feeling of rejection set in. Atticus pulls my hand back and holds it in his grip as if Abrielle's touch just burnt it.

"I just want to be fearless." Abrielle pleads, still rocking herself against the backboard.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

"Tell me how you do it."

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Abrielle squeezes her eyes shut very tightly, her fingers still hopelessly entangled in her hair, and I turn away into Atticus' shoulder. I can't bear to watch her suffer and know she doesn't want me. Not right now.

"It's impossible to be fearless. Instead, you have to learn how to control your fear. Be free from it." Atticus soothes her before I can even open my mouth to speak.

"But you two—" Abrielle begins.

"Are driven by the fear of losing you," I interrupt, speaking into Atticus' shoulder. "That is why we seem so brave."

The thumping stops, everything is still. Everything is silent, except in my head. My head floods with emotions, like the small river behind the Medic Alcove after a bad storm. Again and again I feel my heart beat in my ears, it reminds me I'm here to protect Atticus and Abrielle, even though I feel like the abandoned child that needs protection.

"You know, this is really nice. I never had one of these at home." Abrielle says suddenly.

"A big room?" Atticus and I say in unison.

"A bed." She exhales, closing both eyes.

I turn away from Atticus shoulder and sweep my hand away from his grip and smooth Abrielle's hair.

"Abrielle, you had a bed at Sage's house." I remind her gently.

"Well yes. But not at Mother and Father's house, which is what many people call home. Where we were born and get mail delivered." She says grimly.

It's true. At Mother and Father's we had to sleep on sheets on plastic, they crinkled and cried whenever you would toss and turn in your sleep. The needle-like rocks that littered the floor plunged into our skin and stung constantly like a particularly bad bee sting. One winter, it was bitterly cold and most everyone- including Atticus- became very ill. Mother and Father knew us too good, so they kept close watch on us that winter. My parents knew that we would obviously abandon them for Sage, and they were quite offended that we would sneak off to Sage's house to wait off the cold and get an occasional meal. Sage always walked us home after school or Abrielle's tutoring, and would stall whenever we got to the front door. He never liked Mother and Father much, but he knew better than to stir up a fight. Nearly everyday, he would present us with blankets and quilts, but Mother and Father would seize them in the middle of the night and assure Sage we didn't need them.

That one winter was different. Atticus seemed fragile walking home that evening from his illness, and poor Sage was distraught from his lacking ability to help us, so he snuck Atticus his coat through the window to fight the icy wind until District 5 got a new shipment of medication. Atticus slept soundly in his new coat while I hugged Abrielle as close to me as I could, for if she was to get sick her dainty little body would not to be able to fight the virus. It was one of the hardest nights to get through in my entire life, but I knew morning was coming and Sage would be back with piping hot tea and the sun would dazzle on the snow as he walked us to school.

In the morning, Abrielle's cheeks were rosy as was her nose, but I figured she was still cold from the night before. Throughout the day, she had a croaking, consistent cough that nearly doubled her over. The district still hadn't gotten medicine, and I was solicitous that we only might have a few hours more with her. I can't remember much about that night, but two things stick out among the blur. I remember I never let her out of my arms for hours. Not even for Atticus or Sage to hold. Secondly, Atticus wrapped her frail toddler body in Sage's coat that night and snuggled her between us, shielding her from the cold. I still remember a quick flash of his pained, begging eyes as a particular chilling gust of wind hit him, but he never whispered a word, he just scooted closer to Abrielle and I. From that night on, Abrielle sleeps in Sage's old coat. Atticus and I wake up with cuts and scrapes, but they seemed to heal instantly when I saw Abrielle was unharmed as always.

"Home is wherever we're together. You and me and Ariana, remember that." Atticus kisses her forehead lightly, bringing me back.

"It's getting late," I pretend to scold her as I reach to turn out her bedside light. "We better go back to our rooms and get to sleep."

"No! You can't leave yet!" Abrielle's eyes flutter open.

I look at her curiously.

"Tell me about… the ocean." She smirks slyly.

"I thought you'd never ask!" Atticus' velvet voice tickles my ear.

Abrielle pulls Atticus and I to lie down next to her, just like the biting winter night so many years ago when Abrielle slept in Sage's coat. We settle in close to her, and she yawns dramatically, signaling it's my time to start her favorite story. There's a little bit of a rivalry between us, you see. I believe there is an ocean out there, however far away it may be. Atticus and Abrielle don't. In my old fairytale book, there was an enchanting picture of thundering waves, twisting at the tips. The water was gorgeous, a clear blue with touches of light green. The bottom had creatures, hundreds of them, with different shapes and popping colors that my eyes feasted on. The shells were warped with different looking textures and designs just waiting to be touched. I was in love.

Atticus and Abrielle doubt it's out there somewhere. They think it just belongs in the fairytale in the book, the author just made it up one day. I argue that District 4 was in charge of fishing, and the creatures that darted across the pages behind each other were definitely fish, so this "ocean" must be where District 4 gets all their fish. Of course, they're still stubborn on the subject. Abrielle still likes me to explain it to her, describe it as she falls asleep.

"This is the most enchanting place on Earth. People travel for days to get to the ocean, but something so large isn't inside Panem, but outside." I whisper soothingly, more worried about getting her to sleep on this stupid train.

"Rubbish." Atticus sighs, but Abrielle presses her finger to his lips. This is basically a routine to her.

"Some people have a passion to see this ocean. When the very few people on Earth find it, it's a scene they can't ever forget. The rolling hills of the white sand open up and before you are the crystal blue ocean waves crashing against the sun-kissed sand." I pause for a moment. Abrielle is still against Atticus' chest. Both of them have their eyes closed, enjoying, but certainly disbelieving, my story.

"The sun heats every inch of your soul, filling you, warming you, as you walk along the waves. You crave this warmth… Even if you're not sure it exists yet." Abrielle's drifting into sleep, I notice. Her lips form a small smile as I refer to her and Atticus, but her breathing becomes heavy again as sleep entices her.

"The sun lowers itself behind islands that pop out of the water in the far distance. The sunset colors the cloudless sky every shade you can think of: lavender, tinted gold, terra cotta. You may never leave this beautiful place." My eyelids flutter a bit as Abrielle's breathing escapes her lips. The train rocks me to sleep, but I fight it determined to finish the story for Atticus.

"Along with the sky, the water seems to darken. A tree with huge leaves bends into the shore. Entranced by the dark waters, you perch on it and peek out into the everlasting." My words become slower and softer, my eyes fighting unsuccessfully to stay open.

"The water still falls in rhythm, but the only thing you can see are stars dusted above you in the inky sky." Sleep threatens to take me; it reaches out to pull me under.

"Maybe it is really out there…"Atticus hums faintly.

"Yes, it is." I say, turning my head slightly to look him in the eyes.

"Kidding. Goodnight, Ariana." Atticus chuckles smugly.

"Goodnight, Atticus."


	10. Revealed

**A/N: Thank you to everyone that has stuck with me during this story. Sorry about the wait, I will begin to update more regularly now! The is when the story gets interesting, the Hespers have arrived in the Capitol. This chapter is slightly longer than the others, but I hope you enjoy it! Please review! **

It is dark, pitch black surrounds me and I think I've gone mad. It feels like the walls are closing in on me, suffocating me. In the distance, I can see fragments of light bouncing off a metal object. I gasp for air as I spring through the darkness, desperate to get to the light. The light becomes more and more incandescent the closer I get. Hope shoots through my veins, filling me whole, until I reach the object. I have to squint to see it; a very harsh light shines brilliantly on the item. The light is coming from Atticus. He lies on the floor, a spear sliced into his chest, but he is calm. Abrielle's there, she's very frightened, frantically trying to pull out the spear repeating, "I thought it was a career! I thought it was a career!"

Our bed rattles from the pounding coming from the bedroom door, and jolts me awake. I'm startled, but close my eyes once more. Maybe if I ignore them, they'll go away. The noise rings in my ears, echoing off the walls and dragging me farther away from sleep with every strike. Yasmin's shrilly voice fills the room, ordering us to get up this instant. She huffs loudly and her heels click-click-click to Yarrow's room. I push the straggles of hair away from my eyes and sit up. Everyone is still sleeping deeply, stretched across the over-stuffed Capitol beds. Atticus has no hole in his chest, and Abrielle's innocent face even smiles when she sleeps. I exhale deeply; it was just a dream. I shift myself as quietly off the bed as I can and scuttle back to my room, only daring to breath after I silently click the door shut. This is probably the last good sleep they'll have for a while; I won't ruin it.

The mirror. It's a spotless, beautiful mirror with gold edging that has been interrupted by my bedraggled presence. Mother and Father broke a lot of mirrors at our house whenever they were drunk, I didn't get to peek at my appearance much. I drink in everything about me, for soon I will be re-done by the stylists and I'll be a Capitolite, my looks distorted and shaped by their wants. My face is pale, bloodless. The dark circles under my eyes look like bruises. My eyelashes are long and dark, framing my cerulean eyes. I'd like my eyes much better if Mother didn't hand them down to me, this is almost the only difference between Abrielle and Atticus and I. They inherit Father's hazel eyes. I comb out my long hair in front of the mirror, unable to rip my eyes away from my reflection. Lying on the dresser is a red satin jewelry box, with yellow detailing engraved on the sides; curiously I open it and find a blue bow that matches my eyes perfectly. There's lots of jewelry also, jewels sparkling in every color imaginable are embedded in the silvery necklaces, rings and so on. Sapphires, opals, and rubies litter every inch of the small treasures I find in the box. I don't touch anything except the bow; all the gems look too precious. I think to myself this may be the only good thing the Capitolites have any decent taste in.

"Playing dress up, are we?" A nasally voice shakes my thoughts.

Naturally, I'm startled. I'm having trouble in the Capitol remembering that Mother and Father aren't here anymore; they can do absolutely no harm to me now. Still, I'm constantly on guard even though I know that I'm safe from their lethal grasp.

"You could learn a thing or too from me," I retort swiftly, peering into the mirror as I pin my hair back with the bow. "It looks like you've rolled in a bucket of colored ink. Dreadful, dreadful."

I take one last peek in the mirror and turn to walk past Yasmin to Atticus and Abrielle's room. She stares at the floor, blushing many shades of red under her popping purple blush. Her matching purple lips purse into a small line as I squeeze past her, clearly furious she can't think of a better comeback. I walk cockily past her and just when I'm almost free of her she snatches my arm with her long talons.

"Hey," she digs her nails into arm and bends down to meet my eye level, so close our noses are almost touching and I can see every fake eyelash applied to her eyelid. "I know you prance around this place like you'll be coming back in a few weeks, but you are a weakling, a mere child compared to those careers who will no doubt cut your throat at the bloodbath while I watch, laughing. You think you're safe because Pax has fallen for your little act, but I haven't and I will be sure he gets you no sponsors." She applies a thick layer of lipstick and blows at kiss at me after she releases me. It stings to think of Pax. His words cut me like a knife last night, leaving invisible scars.

"You're absolutely right, I saw how your act worked on Atticus." I spit back to her. Before she can grab me once more I bound to the door across the hallway, throwing myself in at the last second. I lock the door and take a deep breath, turning around to wake them up. To my surprise, Atticus is bent down on one knee, straitening her simple blue dress, covered with lace.

"Oh sorry." I mutter guiltily, surveying them.

"Ariana, look!" Abrielle cries, stretching a strand of hair with her thumb and index finger, then suddenly releasing it so it bounces like a spring and tightens back to a clean corkscrew curl.

"You look like a princess." I gasp, bending down to kiss the tip of her nose.

"The Capitol has everything! There's a black strip in the bathroom, all you have to do is step on it and place your hand on a silver pad. It shot electricity through me so I can be curly!"

"So pretty," I chuckle at her description, and then I take her hand and lead them to the hallway, peeking out the door first to check for Yasmin. We walk through three train cars with different purposes until we reach the dining were everyone else is already seated, as usual. I can tell this will be a long meal as soon as I shut the sliding glass door.

Virgil and Pax isolate themselves at the end of the table, they lean into each other whispering softly, but neither looks the other in the eyes. They also don't look up when we enter the room. I feel slightly wicked as I think of last night's incident with Virgil. For my actions, Atticus and Abrielle must pay because neither Virgil nor Pax wants to talk to anyone related to the cruel, bitter killer from District 1 I apparently remind them of. There goes any chance we could have gotten for strategy, angles, or skills. Yasmin sits at the opposite end of the table, staring daggers at Yarrow's twin brother and sister who are whimpering while being fed. Not wanting to sit by Yasmin or Pax, I sit directly in the middle, planting Atticus and Abrielle on either side of me. No one speaks to anyone; the only sounds are the babies fussing over the bottle. Yarrow tries to feed them and a low hum of two voices coming from a certain side of the table I won't even look at buzzes annoyingly in my ear. I cross my arms and stare at the grooves in the mahogany table, studying each mark thoroughly to keep my mind busy. The cries and whispers around me all fade as I gaze deeper into the pattern on the table…

"Ari," Atticus taps me, pointing to the table. The feast has arrived again, and despite not eating a full meal in nearly my entire life I find that my stomach doesn't ache for any food. I've lost my appetite, quite obviously, being in a place like this. Just when the whispering from Virgil and Pax's side of the table becomes too much to continue listening to and I think I may be the first tribute the murder her mentors, the clink of dishes becomes a new noise to distract me. I take a simple red apple from the table and start nibbling on the edges, while Yasmin piles a mountain of herbs and potatoes to her plate greedily.

"We got some news from the Capitol this morning," Yasmin announces with her mouth stuffed and her fork still poised in the air. "There are a few tributes showing interest in Ariana after her filth at the Reaping."

My ears perk up and my fingers unclench around my apple, I await the thud but it never comes. Atticus is leaning slightly towards me, palm up, with the apple in his hand.

"Nice save." I compliment in a raspy voice.

What could Yasmin possibly mean? Surely no tribute expresses interest in me? I'm half their size, possibly even three times and have no special training other than a few lessons with Sage on how to throw a knife. I furrow my brow and look around the table of confused faces.

"Excuse me?" I press on.

"Your inability to take care of personal hygiene has been rewarded. Some sponsors and tributes had the eye to see there was some splattered blood on your arm. You've come off as slyly vicious, I can't see it, but others are wondering. Care to explain?" Yasmin leans across the table and folds her hands.

"Well to do that would clearly ruin the surprise, don't you think?" I shoot back. I freeze very suddenly after saying it. I know Yasmin will force me to tell her, but I can't. It's private. I can't relive my life in District 5 when I'm hours away from home.

"Oh you think you're so clever. If you don't tell me this instant why you had blood dripping across your arm I will make your life hell in the arena."

"More than already so?" I cry out, desperate to avoid the truth. Atticus tenses clearly beside me, his face stone like. She glares at me, her face is pooping red and she grips her fork like she may stab me with it. Pax stops talking at the end of the table and watches us, expressionless. I still throw him a poisonous glare. Eventually an Avox enters the room and pours her more coffee, so she relaxes her grip on the fork and sits back in her chair.

"Moving on. The next news from the Capitol instructed that if you are above the age of four, you will be expected to be active in the training center personal evaluation and you must speak for yourself at the interview on your own. This whole announcement is for you, Ariel."

"Abrielle." She corrects hoarsely.

"You must start preparing to make me look good. You know Icarus from District 1 is really getting on my nerves. He is constantly bragging about new skin dye Caesar Flickerman sends him as a reward for rocking the interviews three years in a row."

"Make you look good," I shriek as I steal a glance at Abrielle's horrified face. She drops her spoon in utter shock at Yasmin's words. "Of course we will make YOU look good. You're not the one being thrown into the arena in a few days to fight for your life. Under this extreme pressure and mental instability I will be sure to take second out of my day to make YOU look good-"

"Yarrow," Yasmin interrupts me, holding her hand up to stop my words. " You will be in charge of the children at the interview and at training. Do whatever you must to make them quit crying, for my goodness sake!"

"Yes, ma'am." Yarrow closes his eyes at the wail of the little girl begging for more formula.

I don't know what makes me do it. It's certainly not Yarrow; he's never really been warm towards me- or even noticed me for that matter. I stand abruptly from the table, ignoring the ogling from the rest of the table. Atticus holds out his hand to pull me back, but I push him away. I walk to Yarrow's side of the table, not taking my eyes off the little infant girl. I hold out my arms and reach for the girl; wincing as the sound rising from her throat seems to be a nasty cackling. Yarrow turns the girl away from me protectively in his arms, flashing me a set of very tired, dark eyes that peer at me cautiously as I stand very still for the baby. He looks at me carefully, assessing whether to hand is little girl over. He's never had help his entire life with them; I can imagine how hard it would be. I try to think of handing Abrielle over to an almost complete stranger, but I can't. The more I study his face, the more I see blooming dark circles under his eyes that make him look more like a corpse than a living human. I wonder if he has seen his reflection lately; that might make him realize how tired he really is. Doubting my actions as I do them, I raise my finger and trace the dark circles under his eyes lightly. He seems to sink at the feel of my touch, following my hand with his eyes as I slowly touch the circles under his eyes that remind him of the last few nights. My heart races as I feel how cold his skin is, chilling my spine. Remembering where I am, I drop my hand and return it to the holding position. In response, he nods and holds the girl tight for only a moment before releasing her into my arms and handing baby formula to me. I rock on my hips to soothe her as I return to my original seat. Her cries seem to be dying out as she nestles into my arms. Everyone gapes at me unblinkingly and I speak up to stop the blushing.

"What is it?" I snap as the baby silences. She closes her eyes and I relax inside.

"Looks like she has a soft spot after all!" Yasmin points out to Virgil and Pax across the table, nearly choking on her potatoes.

"It's actually quite a gift," I hurl at Yasmin, suddenly uncomfortable and feeling the need to put up walls again between others and myself. I hate the fact that I do it so much, but I can't help a habit that's been ongoing my entire life.

"I have the ability to influence those around me to do what I want. I imagine it to be helpful in the arena." I finish hastily, immediately regretting helping out Yarrow now that Yasmin has found a crack in the brick walls I set up around myself.

"You're not a career sweetheart. Save it." Yasmin snips back, slamming her fork down on the table.

"Are you saying I shouldn't try?" My voice is low as to not wake the child but hinting I might hand her off to Atticus and slap Yasmin directly in the face.

The girl cries out, I throw Yasmin the nastiest look that is identical to the one I gave Pax as I quickly lift the bottle to feed her but stop as the same gravelly sound tickles the back of her throat.

"Is something wrong?" Abrielle voices my thoughts innocently.

"She's been sick for some time now." Yarrow says icily, not making eye contact with anyone.

We are silent the rest of the meal, which is completely fine with me. Everyone keeps their eyes lowered to their plates. I rock the baby gently; coaxing food into her until her bottle only has a few trickles of formula left. I feel so accomplished of keeping her hushed and feeding the girl her entire bottle that I look up from the table with pride only to find that, in all honesty, no one cares. My face sinks a little as I think this is how it will be in the arena. Stay alive another day, no one cares. Find food for your siblings, no one cares. Kill another kid, no one cares. I might as well get used to it.

The train lurches to a stop and Yasmin pops so high from her seat she nearly snaps her ankles from landing violently on her six inch heels. Not that I would care if she did. She looks out the window smiling and waving, and then she turns to us with a sour expression ordering us away from the table.

"Heads high; chins up. Ariana, try to smile and make a name for yourself."

I don't know why she singles me out when Virgil looks like she hasn't ran a brush threw her hair in a week. Just because she is positively mad doesn't mean I'll be kinder to her. I do think I would like her if she made an effort to help us, give advice and the usual mentor job. I hand the baby back to Yarrow and he smiles weakly, but thanks me none. He and I both know it's not worth it, no need to start a friendship now since we could meet an untimely death in a few short days.

As we line up to step off the train, my stomach jerks suddenly as it hits me we're actually in the Capitol. It's so unreal, so foreign to be in the spotlight once again as there is a crowd waiting for us to step off the train like there was when we left the platform in District 5. Maybe I wasn't so nervous on the platform because I was still in shock, or maybe because Atticus held my hand, but now I feel so utterly stiff.

"You have nothing to worry about, they will love you!" Atticus smoothes my hair and gives me a gentle push.

"Mmm." Is all I can reply as Abrielle twirls off the train. The image of her in my dreams haunts me as I think of her pulling out a spear from Atticus' chest. She can't lose her innocence; the Capitol will not force it out of her.

He says nothing else, but grabs my hand and squeezes it protectively, like a big brother would. Sometimes it's hard for outsiders to believe he is my older brother because I seem so much more outspoken and protective, but truly behind the curtain Atticus is much, much braver than I.

_We aren't even in costumes or in chariots… _I think to myself as Atticus lets go of my hand when we step off the train. To my surprise, I don't faint but rather my instincts take over and I walk with confidence. I still keep a fierce glare in my eyes, It's hard not to when these people are taking everything I love away from me, but Yasmin elbows my side so I let my lips curl into a small smile. Just one step in front of the other, and at last we're in the Remake Center. When we enter, flashing colors of purple, orange, and aqua blue are darting in and out of all the glass elevators. The prep teams screech to each other, point at papers, adjust each other's hair… It's absolute chaos. Yasmin shimmies us through a winding crowd, pushing and squeezing through any people we can. There are no other tributes that I can see, but knowing Yasmin we're probably an hour early. I hurl myself in the elevator to get away from the rushing crowd and take a deep breath. Yasmin stabs a button with a fancy scripted five with her long nails and turns to us to instruct directions.

"Each of you will have your separate remake rooms upstairs!" Yasmin shouts over the roar of the elevator shooting up to floor 5. "The door has you're name on it. Each of you will have two prep team members assigned to you! Try to be nice. Then, the stylist will make his way from the youngest to the oldest and dress you, or possibly make alterations!"

The glass doors glide open gracefully, and Yasmin shoves us out of the elevator roughly.

"GO! You'll be late!" She hisses.

Being the least favorite of the group, she gives me an especially forceful shove out of the elevator that I wasn't expecting. Her hand plows into my back so hard it knocks the wind out of me, leaving my lungs contracting and expanding desperately for air. My knees buckle below me and I collapse to the floor before I can cling to anyone. On the way down, dress catches on the mechanicals of the elevator and a nasty ripping sound rings in my ears. I clench my teeth as the gorgeous fabric ripples down my right side. On that side, a gash the size of a ruler reveals lots of scars and bruises that make me feel like I'm at home again. There's no hiding anymore, everyone can see what I try to protect Abrielle from. What Atticus tried to protect me from. Everything Pax could have saved us from is in view. The edges around my eyes go black, blurring my vision and causing panic inside my soul. I can Abrielle and Atticus' voices first; they grab my arms and try to pull me up. I don't respond to them, despite how much I love them, I can only stare in the elevator past Mother, I mean Yasmin, to Virgil and Pax. Virgil keeps her eyes down, not daring to look at me, just looking fixedly on her hand that is grasping Pax. Pax looks at me.

Gasp.

Gasp.

Gasp.

I try so hard to breathe, but this isn't just getting the wind knocked out of me. It feels like I'm having an anxiety attack. Inhale. Exhale. I give up on breathing steadily and focus on Pax.

When we make eye contact, his face twinges ever so slightly. The vexation in his eyes grows more and more intense as he stares down at me; eventually he pulls his hand to his mouth and looks away in the direction of Virgil. It's the last thing I see before the elevator closes.


	11. Escape

A pain that feels like perhaps every molecule in my body being split in half radiates from my leg.

"Ouch!" I yelp, sitting bolt upright, clutching my fiery red leg. My head pounds as the adrenaline pumps into my system. I look around the room and recognize my small prep team ripping a long strip of fabric from my legs, pulling out all the hair with it.

"Back down you go," Sven, a man with paper white skin and red eyes that look like liquid roses, reminds me sternly. "It will hurt much more when you get a spear thrown into your chest!" He rolls his piercing eyes, pushing my shoulder back to the cold table. I decide I don't like Sven that much.

I've fallen asleep in the Remake Center; we've been here for hours. Things are going very slowly here due to the fact there are so many more tributes this year than any other year. The stylists have just been absolutely on edge this entire day, muttering curses under their breath and nervously adjusting their ridiculously colored wigs. I've been scrubbed and washed, shampooed and conditioned endlessly, they've even moisturized and bronzed my skin. They call that the "First Stage" here I've learned. After that stage, my prep team got pulled out of the door by another group of equally outrageous looking people shrieking about how the little girl from District 12 needed extra remake attention. Whatever that means.

I fell asleep after they left, curling into the thin sheet they let me wear. My joints feel sore and rigid, but at least the few hours of unconsciousness have been somewhat at ease. I try not to think about Pax, the way he turned his eyes away from me, seeming to somewhat deny that most of my bruises were his fault. But I'm not one to stay sorry for myself for long. It's not like we could have made up or even been friends in this place anyway, he's so screwed up in his head he probably doesn't even remember what happened this morning.

"Very good, my dear!" A petite looking girl says, trying to comfort me I think. Her name is Paris; she has very tan skin and dark hair twisted into a bun. She could almost be pretty if her entire body wasn't etched with twisting, silver tattoos.

I grit my teeth while they finish. Breath in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. I try to focus on this rhythm, but with every swipe of my hair I get pulled out of my thoughts. I wonder what they're doing to Atticus right now, Abrielle too. Hopefully anything but this, though as I close my eyes and lay still as a board I think I can faintly hear a scream coming from the room to my left.

"Fantastic, District 5! You kept it together! Last one!" Sven pipes, smirking at me almost teasingly.

"Ariana." I say firmly. "I have a name."

"Well, Ariana, we're going to get your stylist. They will be here in a moment!" Paris clasps her hands together; admiring the work they've done today like I'm some kind of doll.

As they dart to the door, I can't seem rip my eyes away from their movements. Paris' movement really, the way her petite figure glides. She has a dancer's lope, any ballerina would weep at the sight. It's strange next to Sven clumsy stomps; his muscular figure leaves no room for grace. It reminds me of someone I know… and suddenly as if two wires connect in my brain, I'm shaking with anger. I grip the edge of the table, my fists clenched so tight my muscles are turning white.

_Don't do this. Control yourself. _

I beg myself to stop, but my lips are already forming her name. "Paris."

"Yes dear." She turns suddenly, pursing her lips.

"How old are you?" I ask, my voice low and bleak. I lean into her, still clutching the table, awaiting her answer.

_Don't act on your anger. It makes you like Mother and Father. _

"I… Well, I'm…" She stammers, inching towards Sven who is glancing at his watch, no doubt cursing me under his breathe for making them late.

"It's a simple question." I hiss back, my tendons nearly bursting through my skin from the intense grip.

"Thirteen."

I'm sure if I saw my appearance, I'd be horrified. The saying, _if looks could kill, _applies. My heart stamps against my chest, like an angry child stomping up the stairs, each stride smashing into the floor louder than the last. My stiff muscles never loosen. I can tell from Paris' sharp intake of breath that my eyes are wide, dangerous, and savage. I can't hear the voice in my head telling me to stop. It's telling me to fight.

"So, why aren't you getting ready for your opening ceremony?" I say slowly, my words slicing the air with each syllable.

Sven looks up from his watch, his face screwed up into a confused expression. Paris backs up to him, her hands latched onto the glass door as if she wants to hide behind it. She stares blankly at me, inaudible sounds escaping her lips, before Sven rests his hand on her shoulder.

"It's time for us to go." Sven guides her away from me.

"I want her to answer!" I snap.

"Ariana, I'm not… I, I'm not a tribute." Her voice is traced with pleading. Her eyes look paralyzed.

"Why?"

"I live in the Capitol."

It all happens so fast. I leap from the table; the thin sheet of cotton they allow me to wear ruffles slightly. I clamp my hands onto her shoulders and slam her into the wall. Screams reverberate in my ears, but I can't tell if it's Paris or me. Tangles of hair sweep in front of my eyes and block my vision, but I can't mistake her fear. I like it. I like the power.

"None of you people understand. It's not real for you. It's amusing entertainment, but it ends…" I snarl into her ear.

"SVEN! Sven, get the peacekeepers!" She yelps, straining her body away from me, refusing to look me in the eyes.

"Is this real enough for you?" I whisper in her ear venomously.

She kicks at my shins aimlessly, but I push her back against the wall. I hear loud footsteps coming from the hallway. They stamp closer and closer until I feel a sting sinking into my left arm. I release Paris and whip around just in time to see five peacekeepers dragging me away from her, and injecting me with a clear liquid I know is sedatives.

Sven sprints in, scooping Paris up and holding her weak body close. She sobs huge heaving sobs, a stream of trickling yellow makeup trickling down her face.

"You're a monster!" Sven spits at me as her strokes Paris' hair.

At of the corner of my eyes I see a flick of light brown hair. Atticus stands there, horrified, as his prep team snatches onto his arms, pulling him back unsuccessfully to his remake room. He simply shakes his head, looking at me with wide eyes.

Another needle sticks me, and the sedatives start to drag me under this time. Her sobs become white noise now, it fades into the background. Everything is blurry around me, my vision only focused on Atticus. Maybe it's the sedatives. All I know is that I have to get to him; tell him what really happened. I can't fight off five peacekeepers. I can't. I can't. They pull Atticus away, and I scream his name. No use. He's gone.

Another prick. I sway on the spot, fighting to stay awake. My muscles feel like they're treading through Jell-O as I reach for Atticus closed safely behind the glass door.

"Get off her! Get off! That's my tribute!" I hear distantly.

My eyelids feel so heavy; sleep entices me, but I have an overwhelming desire to see who's calling for me

"What did you do to her?" A harsh female voice hisses, closer now.

I want to see her. _Fight,_ I think. _Fight harder._

A woman stands besides me, arguing with the main peacekeeper restraining me from the scene. She has livid, ink-like hair like a starless night sweeping in front of her eyes. Untamed, messy curls fly helter-skelter. Her snowy skin stands out against her dark eyes. The peacekeeper is whispering back to her, no doubt in an effort to not upset Paris any further, but when she sees my eyes flutter back open she ignores him completely.

"Ariana," she let's out a long hiss of cold breath. "Come on, we're getting out of here." Her ivory hands reach for me, and I want to sink into her but the peacekeepers hold me back.

"Let her go." She commands. It's not a question.

"Go back to your studio and play with your makeup set." A peacekeeper to my right shoots at her.

She bits her lip, shaking her head as if she's actually ready to walk out the door without her tribute. Suddenly, she whips around, yanking the needle out of my arm and drives it into his neck.

He falls, much weaker than I to sedative, surprisingly. I got that stuff a lot in District 5. Too many times.

The clenching fingers around my arm release me and I fall to the floor. The rest of the peacekeepers huddle around the fallen one, pulling out the needle.

"Run, come on. Get out." My stylist whispers in my ear. I hurry to my feet, only to find that they give out as soon as I stand. She pulls me up, half-carrying me as we struggle out of the door.

"Get the girl! Someone stay with him, but get the girl!" Sven orders over Paris' shrills.

My stylist cries out, one of the four remaining peacekeepers with near perfect aim sticks her shoulder. With a trembling hand she rips it out, swaying slightly, and keeps a loose hold on me as we limp into the hallway.

"GET THEM! GET THEM!" A shrieking male voice orders.

My breathing rings in my ears and stings my chest. I intake huge gulps of air, like almost as if I'm drowning. I feel like I am, the medication begs me to go under.

She stifles a whimper as another needles stabs her forearm. Her eyes roll back slightly as her trembling hand reaches to take it out. Her fingers close around it and don't stop until she's pitched the needle back at the peacekeeper. Amazingly, it hits his wrist. She nods slightly as she turns back to me and places a frail hand on my spine to push me forward. A needle whizzes past my ear, I lean to avoid it but fall weakly to the floor, as I don't have much balance left in me. The needle bounces off the ground and skids to halt. I totter on my hands and knees until I pick the needle up shakily and fire it at the peacekeepers with unmistakable aim. I silently thank Sage for teaching me how to throw a knife when I was little.

"More are coming," the woman says within breaths. "We have to hurry."

Beside another, we crawl on our hands and knees, wobbling and falling, but still going. A needle sticks my spine. I know I'm giving out. My stylist curses under her breath, but keeps pushing me forward. With every movement I'm shaking now, and my limbs can't even be controlled.

"Go," I croak out. There's nothing we can do now. The stumbling peacekeepers are inching closer to us, and I'm gone, really. The sedatives wrap me in their arms now.

She shakes her head, pointing to a room only four doors away. It's hers.

Everything aches as I stretch out to get to that door. In the back of my conscious I know I can't do it.

I slump for the final time, pressing my cheek to the cool crystal floors. I close my eyes, pitch black blankets me almost comforting me. Ducking to avoid an air-born needle, she pushes to her feet and slips her hands beneath me. I can hear her heart beating in fast rhythm identical to mine. Ten short, sharp steps and we reach the door. A needle sticks her neck. A growl escapes her, but she is too weak to pull it out. She presses a pattern of complicated buttons on a keypad and the door slides open.

We stumble into the room, instantly plummeting into the floors, curling into the uninviting darkness.


End file.
